Kneazle's Nature
by Whoaa Kayy
Summary: She couldn't believe what she just heard, just witnessed. Draco Malfoy, born from a family of Death Eaters, Cruelest Slytherin to ever walk the halls of Hogwarts, and appointed assassin of Albus Dumbledore was actually being nice...to a cat.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** This is my first conintued Fanfiction story. Ironically, it's a Dramioneship. My first and foremost favorite /ship/ is Romione, but I couldn't resist writing this.

I have two Romione/ship/ one-shots on my page. Please feel free to read them.

I don't own the characters, creatures, places, or items mentioned in this story. I just own the plot...although it's been used like a bajillion times before.

* * *

Like the bookworm that she was known to be, Hermione had talked the other two thirds of the "Golden Trio" into officially finishing their school career at Hogwarts. They had one year left, she reasoned with them, and it wouldn't hurt to get a full education.

She also reminded them that in order to become Auror's they had to have all seven years of Witchcraft and Wizardry under their belts.

So, with subtle curses and muted protests they bought their books, packed their trunks, and boarded the Hogwarts Express for their final time on September 1st.

"It seems like we just left the castle," said Ron Weasley through chews of his chocolate frog. "I mean, we stayed to rebuild the place, didn't we? Flitwick and McGonagall taught us loads of stuff while we did. I reckon we've learned enough on our own that would qualify for our seventh year."

"For the last _time_ Ronald, we still need the official document that says we completed all seven years of teachings. Besides, a lot of students are returning for the year. Luna's coming back, as is Ginny. I heard Lee and Seamus are somewhere around this train, oh and Neville!"

Hermione waved through the compartment door to a round-faced boy clutching a toad. He waved back happily, continuing on to his own compartment. A bunch of third-year girls trailed after him as he passed, completely star-struck. Hermione barely managed to stifle a laugh.

Harry took a deep breath before poking his head out of the compartment door, instantly regretting it. Suddenly there were girls shrieking and boys clapping wildly. He shrunk back into his seat immediately.

"I should have told you that Ginny's in the prefect's carriage, shouldn't I? She and Luna should be here any moment." Hermione told him lightly, partly hiding behind a book.

"Brilliant," said Harry sarcastically, glaring at her.

Harry and Ron traded chocolate frog cards as Hermione read, a comfortable silence falling over the compartment.

"Oi, GRANGER!"

Hermione looked up, startled, at the angry voice yelling her name. She peeked out of the compartment cautiously, her hand self-consciously gripping her wand.

"I'm not going to hex you, Granger, but if you leave me to give these children orders again you'll have to watch your step." None other than Draco Malfoy spat as he approached her. "By the way, here,"

He shoved something solid, cold, and shiny in her hands. She stared down at the silver badge, perplexed, when she read the words "Head Girl" engraved on it. She looked up at him and paled when she realized he had an identical looking badge, except the words "Head Boy" was scrawled across his own.

"Now get your things, you're supposed to be in the front carriage with me." He sauntered off, his trademark smirk firmly in place from the look on her face. She slumped back in her seat, dazed. Harry and Ron looked at her with worry, each of them offering to hex him so badly she wouldn't have to deal with him for the whole year. She shook her head, clearing it as she got up and heaved her trunk off the rack. She took a deep breath and steadied herself, squaring her shoulders and staring at the door, determined.

"Professor McGonagall and I are going to have a long talk about this when we get to school." Was all she said as she disappeared from sight, Crookshanks bottle-brush tail swishing menacingly as he followed her.

* * *

She knew as well as anyone who at _least_ had the general inkling of how Hogwarts ran that the Head Boy and Girl were given special treatment. They were given their own common room as well as their own bedrooms. They shared a bathroom, but that was a small discomfort in a sea of luxuries.

She didn't have a curfew, and she could have food sent up to her whenever she wanted. She didn't have to share a room with five other girls and— the best thing of all, in her opinion—she got a bigger bed.

At home her room was big enough for a Queen sized bed, as well as a wall of bookshelves. She sighed dreamily, hoping the bookshelves in her new room would be able to at least _compare_ to the ones she had at home, because at this rate the only bookshelves she was going to see that compared were the ones in the Hogwarts library.

She reached the front carriage and grimaced at the sight of the sluggish thug known as Goyle sitting beside the Head Boy himself. She let herself into the compartment and turned to them, her face stony.

"Out," said Hermione simply. They stared at her, dumbstruck.

"He's my friend, he can stay." Malfoy spoke up, angered.

"This compartment is for the Head Boy and Girl only, he is neither. So up, up, and out."

He thudded out, upset, and went back to the part of the train that the rest of the Slytherin's were. Malfoy scowled at her and advanced.

"How _dare_ you, Mudblood? I'm Head Boy."

"Are you forgetting, Malfoy, that you handed me this badge not ten minutes ago?" She asked as she held up the silver badge in her hand, not backing away from him. "And are you _forgetting_, Malfoy, that if it weren't for me and my Mudblood self I would've let Harry cart you and your family off to Azkaban with your dear old Death Eater friends?"

She spoke barley above a whisper, but she delivered the blow she'd intended to. Malfoy bristled, enraged, and sat down silently. He clenched and unclenched his fists in a poor attempt to calm himself down.

Crookshanks leapt up on the opposite bench, curled up and eyed him warily, as if assessing his trustworthiness. She smiled at her cat and scratched his ears before turning to her trunk.

Harry and Ron and put it on the luggage rack earlier, as they'd always done for her every time they rode the train, and now she understood why. Trunks were extremely heavy to pick up; not only did you have all your belongings you also had the hard exterior as an extra weight. She gave several earnest tries before slumping over it, defeated. She heard Malfoy snort in laughter, and her eyes narrowed instinctively.

"You know, it'd be very gentleman-like of you to help the lady with this heavy trunk." Malfoy looked up from his book, his eyes scanning the rest of the compartment.

"I agree, it would, but I don't see any "lady" in here. All I see is an annoyed Kneazle and his filthy Mudblood." Crookshanks hissed at him; his tail rigid. He went back to his book, satisfied. She couldn't lie to herself; that one stung.

"He's only _half_ Kneazle, thank you very much." She sniffed. "Well if you're not going to help me, fine, I'll go get—"

"Threatening me with your little glory filled friends, Mudblood?" He suddenly asked as he threw his book aside and stood up, the anger in his voice evident once more. She smiled smugly and crossed her arms. "They don't scare me, Mudblood. None of you do."

"I know we don't. I was actually going to get Ginny to help me. She's a prefect, if you didn't know."

"Weasel girl?" He grunted, surprised. Hermione's eyes narrowed, but she nodded nonetheless. "Bloody hell, that's got to be every ruddy Weasley in that blood-traitor family, hasn't it?"

In an instant Hermione's wand was out and pointed at Malfoy's throat. "Don't make me hit you again," she growled before storming out of the compartment; slamming the door open in her rage, it swung back with a feeble _click_ as it closed again.

Looking around, Malfoy grinned. That Mudblood had to be so _stupid_ sometimes, didn't she? Didn't she remember that they were of age now, and she'd been doing magic and helping Potter defeat the Dark Lord for a year?

He gave an involuntary shudder and his arm felt like it was momentarily on fire. Ignoring his pain, he took out his wand and moved her trunk up on the rack. He caught sight of the orange ball of fur as he sat down with his book again and with a sympathetic sigh he leaned forward, looking intently into his amber eyes.

"I didn't mean to say that about your...err, mistress. She's very clever, much like you are." Crookshanks appraised him before jumping onto his seat and curling up next to him, obviously forgiving him.

There was a small laugh from the doorway, and he looked to up see Hermione and that Weasley girl—Ginny—standing there.

"Hermione, I think the only thing you have to worry about is Malfoy winning over Crookshanks." She laughed softly before leaving again.

She stared at him, surprised beyond belief. She couldn't believe what she just heard, just witnessed. Draco Malfoy, born from a family of Death Eaters, Cruelest Slytherin to ever walk the halls of Hogwarts, and appointed assassin of Albus _Dumbledore _was actually being _nice_ to a cat.

Well, he wasn't technically a cat, but still. He was a living, being creature, and Malfoy was actually _nice_ to him.

"What just happened?" she asked stupidly.

"Oh come off it Mudblood," he sneered, "Even Weasel-bee would know what just happened. Your Kneazle fancies me, of course." He looked back down at his book, but he could barely concentrate on the words in front of him.

"Why do insist on calling him that? He has a name, you know." She said before storming out once more, coming back momentarily in her school robes. He watched as she sat down and opened her own book up, her bright eyes disappearing behind it.

"You know," he drawled, smirking as her flashing eyes peered at him from over her large book. "Those bright eyes of yours would look much better with emerald robes."

"Eat slugs, Malfoy." Said Hermione flatly, disappearing behind her book once more. He let out a laugh before going back to his own book, absently scratching Crookshanks as he did so.

"Can you _stop_ doing that? You're making him sound like a motorcycle." She said sharply after a while. The sun was setting, and it was making her short, bushy hair look as if it was on fire. He blinked against the blinding light, his eyes adjusting to her livid face. "It's bad enough that his judgment's clouded, he doesn't need you leading him on with scratches."

He laughed at her, astonished. "First off Mudblood, do you _know_ the nature of a Kneazle? Secondly, he's allowed to like whomever he wants. His "judgment", as you say, is better than any of ours."

She huffed, knotting all her limbs tightly together. He glanced down and smirked, raising an eyebrow as he met her gaze again. "Trying to let me sneak a peak, Mudblood?"

She squeaked and dropped her previously crossed legs back to the floor, pulling her skirt down as far as she could in attempt to cover her legs. "Don't worry yourself; I wouldn't look even if I was tempted. You may have grown into one of the prettiest witches in the school, but you'll always be a filthy little Mudblood to me."

She stood up and towered over him, outraged, and drew her wand once more.

"Call me a Mudblood one more time." She warned him, her voice grave.

The train gave a powerful lurch then, starting to slow down as it did so. To both of their horror, Hermione lost her balance in the sudden movement and fell on top of Draco. His hands had instinctively reached up to steady her fall, protecting his own self as well as her. She ended up straddling his lap, her forehead colliding with his narrow shoulder painfully. Her hair was obscuring his vision as his face was pressed into the crook of her neck, his hands clutching her small hips.

They sat there for a moment, stunned, before she leaned back to stare at him. She pushed against his chest to regain her balance, simultaneously pushing him harder against the back of the seat as she added more weight to her lower body.

"Why the bloody hell'd you have to wear a skirt, Granger?" Malfoy groaned out quietly, tightening his grip on her hips. Both of their eyes widened as his words registered, astonished. Hermione looked around desperately, making several incomprehensible angry sounds as she did so. Finally, finding no immediate relief from the outside world, she faced his dumbfounded gaze once more.

"Pervert," said Hermione shrilly, hitting him over the head with her wand. She clambered off of him quickly, grabbing hold of her trunk and pulling, not bothering to wait for it to hit the ground as she walked toward the door. "Make sure he gets to the common room," said Hermione as she walked out, her pleated skirt floating slightly as she turned the corner.

The train stopped shortly after she left, but Draco was still laughing. His cheeks hurt, his sides ached, but he continued to laugh. He looked down at Crookshanks after awhile, who was looking at the door with a small look of satisfaction on his squashed face. "Your mistress is a funny one, isn't she?" Malfoy asked the cat, who purred in agreement. "We'll have fun with her this year, now come on; to the Head Boy and Girl's common room."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Wow, a lot of people liked the first chapter. Thank you so much! I'm glad you've all liked it so far!

I hope you like this chapter just as much. I'm trying to develop more of the sexual tension between the two before I really delve into the plot. I added more personal thoughts of the characters because after consulting a friend of mine who was more "up to date" on Malfoy's personality change in the seventh book she told me his insulting ass-ish manner didn't fit that well. I explained that here. [;

You should check her stories out. Her name is XShadowCatX. She writes Pirates of the Caribbean stories, and they're amazing. XD

Alright, enough talk. Get on with the chapter, yeah?

I own nothing, btw. Just the extremely twisted plot of this too-wrong couple.

* * *

Walking out of the train, briefcase in hand and Crookshanks on his heels, Malfoy abandoned his Head Boy duties entirely and went in search of a carriage. Hermione had left him on the train after all; she could take care of the second year directory. The Thestrals were a common sight now to those who fought in the Battle last year, but he still found them somewhat creepy. They were silent, majestic creatures, and they didn't interfere with others. He couldn't help but relate them to himself sometimes: They both kept to themselves and they both rarely appreciated human company.

With a habit-like disgust, he climbed into the carriage already occupied by Potter and Weasley. He was respectful to them while in their presence, because it would be ungrateful to be anything else after all they've done for him. He wasn't ready to consider them decent people yet, hence the continued insulting manner he used when he wasn't around them, but they weren't _that_ bad. It was something that took him most of the summer to realize as he stayed to rebuild the school.

"Ginny will be here in a moment," Potter told Weasley, who nodded. Luna sat between himself and Weasley, which he was grateful for. He didn't know if he'd be able to sit next to one of them yet; he was having a hard enough time being in the same enclosed space as them.

They regarded him silently, keeping to themselves their thoughts of him sitting with them. For this he was also grateful, because he didn't want to get into a row with any of them just yet.

Wands would be used, words would be spilled...It wouldn't be a pretty sight.

Crookshanks hopped up on his lap, catching him by surprise. He nuzzled his head in his stomach reassuringly before curling up and closing his eyes.

"Great, now the cat likes him." He heard Weasley mutter. He felt a surge of rage and fought to keep it down.

"Ron," his sister warned, glaring at him from her place next to Potter. Ginny gave him a small smile before returning to her conversation with Potter like nothing happened. He heard Weasley mutter an angry apology and then was silent.

After the uneventful ride up to the castle he made his way up to the Head's tower to drop Crookshanks and his briefcase off. The password, as his letter had said, was Niffler, and sense Granger didn't even have her badge he could bet she didn't know the password. He grinned down at the cat, happy that something had turned out right today.

He approached the statue of Boris the Bewildered and walked up the spiral staircase after he let him pass. Crookshanks walked in front of him, throwing what he supposed were worried glances over his shoulder every few steps or so. After climbing the two flights of spiraling stairs he found an elaborate arch way of an entrance to the common room. He smirked, hurrying towards it.

He had to brace himself against the wall; he was so surprised at the sight that greeted him. Hermione, in barely any clothing at all, was reading a book in front of the dim fire. She wore a red pair of what he assumed were _supposed_ to be shorts, but they covered less than his own knickers. It didn't help that she was curled up against the side of an armchair, making the shorts expose more of her milky legs. Her tank top was a golden color, shining like the precious metal in the warm light. He noticed, mildly interested, her red bra straps peaking out under the golden material. Crookshanks bounded up to her, bandy-legged and clumsy, as he jumped on the couch. She started, snapping her worn book shut before turning to the two of them.

"Shouldn't you be at the feast?" She asked as she scratched Crookshanks ears. He blinked stupidly for a moment, clearing his dry throat.

"Shouldn't _you_ be at the feast?" He repeated, forcing his voice to stay steady. "You were the first one off the train, after all." He added with a slight smirk.

"I came up here to calm down for a bit, I'll be going down in a moment. Would you care to walk down with me?" She stood up and held her book behind her back innocently.

His eyes darted to her moving foot, scratching the back of her leg shyly. He let his eyes rake up her body, meeting her own too innocent gaze with a glare.

"You did this on purpose," he muttered, setting his briefcase down beside him. She giggled girlishly.

"You made something very apparent to me on the train, Malfoy, and I thought I'd return the favor."

"Return the favor, you reckon?" He asked sharply, advancing on her. He watched as fear flickered in her eyes, as well as anger. She backed up with every step he took towards her, soon ending up pressed against the stone wall of the common room. He pressed up against her, grabbing her hips as he had done earlier, and smirked down at her fearful expression. "And what favor are you returning, exactly?"

She huffed, avoiding his gaze. She looked anywhere but his pale eyes. Finally, she met his gaze and glared at him before pushing against his chest, making him back away. "The knowledge, Draco Malfoy, in which it will be very hard to live with each other if we keep carrying on like this," As soon as she had enough space she sprinted to the bathroom door. Regaining her confidence now that she put distance between the two of them, she turned to him again; a slight smirk playing on her face. "I'm not a child anymore, Malfoy. I know how to be bad, too."

As she closed the bathroom door Malfoy couldn't help but give a snort of laughter. You can't _learn_ how to be bad, he wanted to tell her. It's something you're born with it.

He chuckled again and walked down to the Great Hall, almost certain he missed the sorting. He was glad though, because he never liked it much anyway. He was happy that this would be his last year here, and he would never have to come back to this school again. His favorite teacher was now gone, so now he had to be on his _best_ behavior. He sat down next to Pansy and she gave him a kiss on the cheek, delighted to see him. He and Pansy would have their occasional fling, but only when he was in the mood. She was too clingy for his liking, and he could only stand it when he was in a ridiculously good mood.

This was not one of those times.

He watched Hermione walk in a moment after, annoyed with himself that he was even paying attention to that Mudblood. She glanced at him from her place next to Weasley, curious. He grinned maliciously, turning to Pansy and firmly kissing her on the lips. Pansy gave a sound of surprise, but kissed back all too willingly. Her willingness made him sick frequently. It reminded him of the girls in Muggle books that everyone seemed to hate.

It was his guilty pleasure, reading Muggle books. He knew if his father had ever found out about them he would've been beaten so black and blue not an inch of his pale skin would have been able to be found.

Nevertheless, he read them, and Pansy was a classic example of the "witches" in the stories. He glanced at Hermione, who was now forcing herself to look down at the table, uncommonly interested in the dark wood, and grinned into the kiss. Pansy seemed to take this as encouragement, because she tried to force her tongue past his thin lips.

He pulled back from her then, having enough for a term or two. She pouted, but continued talking to her friends like she previously was. He could hear her conversation though, and she most definitely was not talking about her summer experienceHermione didn't know what to do.

* * *

The boy was such a slimy, perverted git it almost made her sick to watch him lock lips with Pansy. He had attacked her twice so far, and they'd only been in each other's presence for a day. This was not like Draco, she concluded, but at the same time she was not acting like herself, either.

The summer at the castle had taught her many things; one thing, most importantly, was that Ron was not the man for her. Her love for him grew into an annoying brotherly love, but nothing romantic. She often found herself getting bored when they would sneak off in the dead of night. He was too much of a routine, and it wasn't something Hermione found enjoyable.

Her hormones didn't fancy anyone at the moment, and she was quite thrilled about it. She didn't have to make sure she looked perfect for a certain someone, and she didn't have to worry about screwing up at random times and being judged. It was quite relaxing, and she hoped it would continue for the year.

She grew bolder, as the boys called it, more unconscious of the rules and regulations. She wasn't innocent anymore, she reminded herself; Ron had taken that from her. She didn't regret it, but she wasn't about to go back to it any time soon. She knew how to seduce boys; it was something Ron would literally go red in the face for when she seduced him. She didn't think strictly innocent thoughts anymore, but that was known only to her.

Now, as she looked over at a smirking Malfoy talking to Blaize, she was fighting fire with fire. She scolded herself, because Malfoy's been using fire for so long it had probably magically morphed into Fiendfyre. She shivered involuntarily; she wasn't _that_ bad.

She enjoyed the feast with Harry, Ginny, Neville, and Ron; Malfoy slipping her mind. Half way through dinner she stopped looking his way and focused fully on her friends, laughing and talking with them happily.

After the feast she left Malfoy to the Head Boy duties, walking up to Professor McGonagall at the Staff table.

"Can't you two do _any_ duties together?" Professor McGonagall asked sharply.

"We'll try, Professor." She said sheepishly before clearing her throat. "Actually, I'd like to know why I didn't know about being Head Girl ahead of time. It's an honor, of course, but Malfoy throwing my badge at me wasn't how I expected to be told."

"Ah, yes, well. If you remember you told me you were planning on returning for the school year as you were leaving, which left me no time to send your letters. I simply told you the books you'd need and you left. Also at that time, Longbottom had gotten his foot stuck in the trick step again, and your Head Girl badge slipped my mind. I figured it'd be easiest to give your badge to Malfoy so he could give it to you on the train." Professor McGonagall stood up, looking down at Hermione sternly. "I hope this is not a problem for you,"

"Oh, not at all Professor," She stammered, playing with the hem of her skirt.

"Good, then that settles it. The password is Niffler; I'll see you tomorrow in class." And she left the Great Hall.

Hermione sighed: that was not how she wanted that conversation to go.

She wanted there to be a mistake, that Malfoy had stolen his badge and was not Head Boy. Apparently though, that was not the case. Malfoy was indeed Head Boy.

She trudged up to the Head Tower, tired and annoyed. She didn't know how she was going to survive this year.

"Granger," She heard Malfoy call. She looked back and rolled her eyes, continuing her journey. "Granger, would you stop walking?!" She heard him yell again, racing up the steps.

"What do you want, git?" She asked sourly as she continued walking; his tall, narrow figure now in tow.

"Language, Granger. You're Head Girl now. You don't want to go setting a bad example for the children, do you?" He met her hard glare with his own smirk.

"You'd want to leave the school then, Malfoy. We don't need the children following after you: they might start shagging in the hallways."

"That wouldn't be a bad thing, actually. It'd be very entertaining. It'd also be educational, you know. They could start a Human Anatomy class..."

"You're revolting, Malfoy. Niffler," She said before walking briskly up the staircase. He followed her, grinning.

"You know, I could be like a Niffler." He whispered as he came up behind her. "I've been known for finding girls special...treasures..."

She let out a frustrated scream as he laughed and ran up the steps ahead of her, disappearing in the common room. She ran up after him, ready to jinx him into oblivion. Turning the corner into the common room, she ran into something.

He grabbed her, groaning once again in her ear. "You know you want me, Mudblood." She struggled for him to release her, and he complied. She glared at his smirk clad face. The fire lit his pale eyes, showing his mirth dancing like flames in a small part of them. She huffed and turned on her heel, storming towards her bedroom. "Still think you know how to be bad, Mudblood?" He asked arrogantly. She paused, her answer the soft _click _of her door closing behind her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:**-takes deep breath-

**IMPORTANT! READ! DO NOT SCROLL PAST ME, YOU SCURVY, MANGING--**

-clears throat-

Oh, heh. Hi.

Okay, I want to make sure everyone who reads this chapter to know that I have posted a longer and more explanatory A/N at the bottom. You must read that before you click the review button and bite my head off. If you skip it and just click the review button and bite my head off, you can bet you'll have your head bitten off in return. If you do read it, click the review button, and still bite my head off...well, we'll cross that bridge when we get there.

_Please_ enjoy! -crosses fingers-

* * *

He couldn't sleep.

He groaned angrily and punched his silk encased pillow. His room—as well as _hers_, he assumed—changed itself to its owner's preference. His windows were now draped with black silk curtains; his sleek pewter bed now held his person twisted around his black and green silk sheets, distressed.

Granger—that filthy, little Mudblood, he reminded himself—was in the room next to him. She was less than fifty feet away from him. She was probably in that absurd outfit again, the one that showed so much and left so little to the imagination.

He punched the pillow again, livid with himself. He should _not_be thinking those types of thoughts about a Mudblood like her. What would his father think? What would his _mother_think? Fancying the insufferable know-it-all Mudblood, it was simply preposterous.

When he stayed to help rebuild the castle over the summer he had kept his distance from the three of them. Still, when he would wander the halls at night in thought he would catch glimpses of Granger and Weasel sneaking off into some dark, abandoned corridor. He'd actually walked past them once on the way to the Owlery one night.

They didn't notice him in their fun, but he sure noticed them, or her, to be more specific. He couldn't lie to himself; the look of her pressed up against the wall was positively sinful. Her legs were encircled around Weasel's waist and he was holding her up. Her eyes were half closed in lust and her full lips were red and swollen, her hair and curly mess haloing her head.

He had walked on, not paying any attention them. When he reached the Owlery he allowed himself to sit on a non-dropping-strewn step and think. The image of her was clear in his mind, but he forced it away. He could not, _would not_, think that about a Mudblood.

Now, as he lay there in bed, that image was clearer than ever in his angry mind. He finally wrenched himself out of bed and put on his silk green pajama pants before grabbing his book and walking out to the common room.

To his immense relief, he found the only other occupant of the common room was Crookshanks. He lifted his squashed head as he walked into the room, aware of his angry state. He rested his head once again and looked intently up at him, waiting.

"Like I'd tell you my problems, you'd probably just blab them to your mistress." He grumbled, sitting down on the green couch near him. Crookshanks glared at him, highly affronted. He sighed, surrendering. "Your mistress is a right tease," He supplied.

Crookshanks gave him an agreeing look before waiting for him to continue.

"I mean, sometimes blood purity doesn't stop me from thinking things about her, although I beat myself up like a house elf afterward."

Crookshanks looked at him questionably, his swishing tail stopping in mid air.

"She's a Mudblood, of course. I simply _can't_be thinking anything about her besides what to do to make her life a living hell." He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, but obviously, to Crookshanks, it wasn't. He stood up, his tail bristling. He was hissing and spitting at him, disgusted.

"Oh calm down, Kneazle. You know it's true."

Apparently, Crookshanks didn't think it was.

"Fine, you're right. It's almost the 21st century, blood purity shouldn't be much of a problem, but it _is_. For my family, that is."

Crookshanks glared at him, but at least he stopped spitting. Malfoy sighed once more, placing his head in his hands.

He and Crookshanks sat there in silence, recognizing each other's company but making no further move to communicate.

A girlish giggle greeted his ears. Freezing, he feared it was Moaning Myrtle. He had met her in his fifth year, unfortunately; the Prefect bathroom never looked the same to him after that night.

Two very real, very human, and very warm arms snaked around his neck then, hugging his bare torso from behind.

"You mustn't talk to cats, Draco, people will start to wonder." Hermione whispered in his ear. Her words were slurred, and her firewhiskey breath stung his nose. He couldn't believe it; Hermione Granger, cleverest witch of the age, was _drunk_?

"Granger," He addressed smugly, the growing smirk on his lips unstoppable. She giggled again, nuzzling her head in the crook of his neck. "Mudblood, you're drunk."

She giggled again, sauntering around the couch to face him; her hands still firmly entwined around his neck.

"Of course I am, you slimy git. I'm of age now, it's not a crime. There's no law that says you can't have alcohol at school if you're of age."

He snorted, reminded of how she always had to make sure she wasn't breaking any rules before she went and did something "risky". "Trust me, Granger, I know there isn't." He drawled. "What I want to know is why a good girl like you would even have to make sure she wasn't breaking any rules before going and getting piss drunk."

Her face crumpled, obviously thinking hard. When her expression cleared she giggled again before straddling him on the couch.

Now, a girl suddenly sitting on his lap was something that never startled Draco Malfoy. Hermione Granger, however, was no ordinary girl. She was a grade "A" book worm, goody-goody-two-shoes, piss drunk—

Filthy, little Mudblood.

He snarled, struggling to push her off. She laughed, not moving.

"Get _off_, you filthy, little, good for nothing Mudblood! If my father—"

"Your father," she cut him off coldly, "is an evil man who only thinks about himself. He _should _be in Azkaban with all his Death Eater pals, but he isn't. He's at home, with your precious mother, reeling on pure self hatred of getting himself too involved with the losing side." He stared up at her, shocked. She gave a girlish giggle and situated herself more comfortably on his lap.

Stifling the groan that tried to release itself through his mouth, "_Must_ you do that?" He grunted. She giggled again in reply. "What made you get drunk in the first place, Granger?"

She quieted, sobering somewhat. She looked down at her hands that had detached themselves from his neck solemnly, playing with her fingers.

"I meant," he clarified, "What made you pick up your first bottle of firewhiskey, because this _obviously_ isn't the first time."

She brightened again, giggling offhandedly. He was starting to become annoyed by all the giggling, but that was only because he found it somewhat endearing.

"Blame Ron," she said, waving an airy hand around. "He got really boring, but Harry told me that he was in love with me. Since Ron is also one of my best friends I didn't want to hurt him by breaking up with him, so I started drinking a lot of firewhiskey before he would sneak me off so it would look like I was having fun. He found my bottles though, and dumped me three weeks before term." She smiled down at his startled expression.

"And tonight," he asked through a soft groan. She had wriggled her hips in attempt to get closer to him. She didn't speak for awhile, and he thought she hadn't heard him. When he was about to repeat himself, she cleared her throat softly.

"You upset me,"

"So you're going to get drunk every time I call you Mudblood, Mudblood?" he asked through a laugh. She glared at him, her face hardening.

"No, you foul toe-rag, you _upset_ me." He stared at her for a moment, comprehension dawning. She giggled again, resting her head on his bare shoulder.

"How did you think getting drunk would help you?" He asked, trying to control his anger. She must have sensed his suddenly rigid tone, because she leaned back to look at him again.

"I didn't, I just didn't want to think about it anymore. I mean, you're _Draco_ _Malfoy_ for Merlin's sake. _You_of all people shouldn't upset me. It should be Viktor or Harry or...Ron..." She looked down, losing herself in her drunken thoughts. He found it somewhat annoying that she was sitting here, on his lap, making him _extremely_ uncomfortable, and thinking about the Weasel-bee.

Okay, he lied. He found it very annoying.

"So if you didn't think getting drunk would help your..._anger_," He started, bringing her back to the now. "What are you doing out in the common room then?" He didn't want to mention their current sitting position, because that would just make it more real...that there was a Mudblood, sitting on his lap.

"I was bored," She said, shrugging her small shoulders and trailing her fingers lightly across his chest. "I heard you talking, so I came outside. I'm a right tease, am I?" She asked, wriggling her hips again. He sucked in a sharp breath; being caught off guard was not good in this situation.

He glared up at her smiling, drunken face, annoyed. "Mudblood, go to bed."

"No,"

"Mudblood..." He growled.

"No," She repeated.

"You don't want me to do this," He warned.

"How do you know what I want you to do?"

He rolled his eyes, "Have it your way then."

In an instant she was pinned to the couch they were sitting on, his long body holding her still. She shrieked in surprise, but was silenced the next moment by his hand covering her mouth. His face was inches away from her frightened one, glaring at her.

"Now," he said calmly. "Do you _really_ want me to do this?" He asked. He pressed his lower body forcefully into her, and he watched her eyes half roll up in lust; the very sight almost tearing away his composure. She looked back at him, her eyes searching his own for a moment before shaking her head slightly.

He got off of her gracefully, looking down at her silent form. "Don't ever meet me when you're drunk again, because if you do I won't stop. Understand?" She blanched at his words, her hazel eyes widening. He turned, grabbed his book, and walked back into his room, failing to stop repeating the words he just spoke in his head. To his disdain, he knew he was right; he _wouldn't_stop, not even if she turned out to be the dirtiest Mudblood ever known to Wizarding existence.

* * *

**Author's Note:** -cowers- ...Hi.

I know, I know. A drunk Hermione and a cat-talking Malfoy is _completely_ and _totally _out of character.

Now, please here my side of the story. I have four and a half words for you (one's hyphenated).

This. Is. A. Fan-fiction.

And a fairly well written one, at that. What compared to some of them that I've read.

No, I am not naming names.

Back to my defense, yeah? This couple is never, and I repeat, _never_supposed to happen. There is no evidence in any of the books to support it. (If there is, please message me with said evidence. I don't want any of that movie chemistry crap, I want the real thing.) It's just something that's simply not meant to be. Therefore, you have to make a bit of it up when you want to write this pairing, don't you? I know Malfoy would never think twice about Hermione and Hermione would never, ever touch a firewhiskey, much less get drunk from them. I mean, for all we know they don't even complete their seventh year of Hogwarts, do they?

The part of my defense where I explain why my character's are thinking and doing the things they think and do is explained in this chapter, if you didn't find it don't start biting my head off until you do.

I'm trying my best to keep this story in character, but hell, this _plot_ isn't even in character. So bear with me, yeah? If you like my writing and the plot, replace the characters if you must.

Okay, um. I think that's it for my defense. You can bite my head off now, but thank you for hearing me out.

To, what I'm assuming was very few of you, those who actually liked this chapter; thank you so much! Please review and I'll be sure to update soon!

By the way, none of this is mine 'cept the plot, although I'm sure you figured that out by now.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N**: I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

I feel really, really, really bad. I hope you all can forgive me. D:

Okay, well. After reading all your WONDERFUL reviews (thank you all bunches, by the way) I hope I've made Malfoy more...Malfoyish. I took into careful consideration how to portray him fighting with himself constantly over the thought of Hermione, and I hope it came out well and it's not too over-saturated. There isn't a lot of dialogue in this, but I hope that's not too much of a problem. In my upcoming updates (that WILL happen on a somewhat regular basis) that will change.

I'm also probably really out of practice writing in the style I've been writing this story, it might take me a bit to get back into it. I hope it's not too bad. Let me know if you can spot where the writing style changes. ;D

Oh! And to **voldyismyfather: **I hope you like a certain paragraph in this chapter! Lol. ;D

Alright, well. I've bothered you enough. I hope you all enjoy this chapter and can find it in your lovely, amazing, and talented hearts to forgive me for not updating!

* * *

When she woke up she was greeted with a too bright room and an enormous headache, not to mention her body was aching all over. She thought she fell asleep while someone was putting the _Cruciatus curse _on her, she hurt so badly.

She stretched and reached into her nightstand drawer, extracting a bottle of aspirin as she did so. She dry swallowed a couple pills and lay there, trying to remember the night. She knew she got drunk out of anger, something she was regretfully doing more often. Other than that she couldn't remember a thing, and for that she was grateful. She didn't want to be left to the thoughts she'd been having since the train ride that night, much less deal with them sober. She smiled, feeling better about the first day that lay ahead, and remembered she had Head Girl duties.

She hurtled out of bed, dressing quickly in her school robes and doing a quick hair-cleaning spell she'd learnt from a book Ginny gave her, and ran out the door.

"Morning, Mudblood."

She froze, looking over at his already dressed figure lounging on the green couch. She eyed him warily, but was pleased to see everything was back to normal.

"Are you late for something? You look like you're in a hurry." He drawled, smirking up at her from his book.

"I slept in, that's all." He sneered at her, turning a page.

"I noticed. I already patrolled this morning." She blinked at his sneering face. "You can thank me by going back in your room and changing into that nice little skirt of yours." They both looked down at her trousers-clad lower body, different expressions on the other's face. Hermione looked smug while Draco looked annoyed, but his face quickly reverted back to its smirking self. "You could also cover the patrol tonight."

"I'll do that, thanks loads Draco." She said, heading towards the archway for breakfast.

"That's Malfoy to you, Mudblood."

"You're quite welcome. It was nothing for a pompous git like me!" She mimicked, disappearing down the spiral staircase.

He scowled at where she had been a moment ago, irritated. She didn't bring up last night, and he knew he sure wasn't going to. Did that mean she couldn't remember what happened?

Oh, he could only hope so.

Hermione walked into the Great Hall, spotting her two best friends instantly. She sat down and greeted their food-filled faces happily, starting in on her own eggs and kippers.

"Harry, you ready for Quidditch try-outs this Friday?" Ginny asked as she joined the group. Hermione looked up, surprised. Ginny had become Gryffindor captain the year they left Hogwarts.

"You have to try-out? Won't this be your first time officially trying out?" Ginny snorted, ducking her head at the sight of Harry's withering glare.

"She said it's fair to the other people who want to be Seeker." He said. "I say its rubbish; we all know I'm going to be on the team again."

"Hey mate, I have to try out again, too. We all know how great that's going to go over." Ron said before stuffing a piece of toast in his mouth. His ears turned pink, and Hermione could tell he was nervous.

"Well I'll be there, and I'm sure you'll both make the team." Hermione said, scanning her schedule. "We have double potions today with Slytherin, as well as Charms and double Transfiguration with them."

"Bloody hell, we have the whole day with those slime balls!" Ron exclaimed, looking over his own schedule. He glanced over at the Slytherin table and groaned. "And it looks like Malfoy is particularly happy today, which means he's going to be as much as a ruddy git as ever. Brilliant."

The three of them glanced momentarily over at the far table, watching Malfoy as he laughed and joked with Goyle, Blaize and a few other of his minor cronies. He looked up, feeling himself being watched, and locked eyes with Hermione. Harry and Ron looked between the two of them, confused. When the two boys had their backs turned to him he winked surreptitiously at her, grinning slyly and turning his full attention back to his friends. She blushed and looked down at the table, almost not believing what had just happened.

Malfoy had never, in the whole eight years she had known him, winked at her. She was never one to over-analyze things, but something that out of the ordinary meant something, didn't it?

God, she hoped not.

They finished their breakfast uneventfully and made their way to potions, where they were greeted warmly by none other than professor Slughorn.

"Harry, Hermione! Mr. Weasly, what are you still doing here?" He asked as they entered. Ron's ears turned pink.

"Good morning professor. We all need to take this class in order to become Aurors, you know that." Professor Slughorn laughed good-naturedly and clapped Harry on the back. Hermione found it hard to stifle the laugh that had erupted in her at the sight of Harry's terrified face. If she wasn't mistaken she saw Ron inch toward her ever so slightly; pale-faced and wide-eyed, it wasn't too hard to tell he was afraid of Slughorn's big hands that had almost snapped Harry in half mere seconds ago.

Taking their seats among their fellow Gryffindor's, Hermione could hardly keep her attention off the door. It was like she was _waiting_ for the pale, cocky boy to come waltzing in, drawling and treating everyone as if they were inferior to him.

What was happening to her?

"You okay, 'Mione?" Ron asked warily, she glared at him.

"Yes of _course _Ronald, why on Earth wouldn't I be?" She snapped. Seconds later Malfoy crossed the threshold, laughing in an obnoxiously loud tone that had her bristling uncontrollably. Ron eyed her suspiciously, trying to catch Harry's eye to tell him silently that he thought something was up.

She snarled incomprehensibly and stood up, gathering her things hastily.

"Just where do you think you're going?" Harry asked, finally looking up from his cauldron.

"Nowhere. Please take notes for me Harry, we all know _Ronald's _notes wouldn't be able to teach a fly." She threw one last menacing glare at the ginger haired boy before storming out of the dungeon, quite unladylike if she was completely honest with herself. Her grandmother would be pulling her own hair out if she saw Hermione act that way, especially in public.

Before the heavy wooden door closed behind her she heard Ron's voice say something along the lines of "I only asked her if she was alright, I didn't think it was that time of the month already..."

She stamped her foot, did it _have _to be _that time_ for her to be angry?

After rounding the corner into an abandoned corridor she suddenly felt a strained and weak sensation overtake her legs, on their own accord they gave out from underneath her and made her slide to the floor miserably.

She had thought about him more times in one day than what she had in eight years _combined_, she was getting herself worked up and temperamental and she couldn't stop herself. Worst of all, she was over analyzing and replaying things that had happened between them over and over again she was afraid that soon that's all she'd ever see: his face, his smirk, his body.

But she's never seen his body before...

Flashes of a bare chest, a couch, and a smirking Crookshanks licked at her memory like the dying flames in the common room fire place.

_"You upset me..."_

Oh Gods, what had she done?

Images of her saturated his mind, making concentrating on anything else but his lower half next to nothing. Where was a pensive when you needed one?

A pensive, he reminded himself bitterly, didn't expel the memory all-together. It just gave you a different perspective of it. He glared at nothing in particular; that was one memory he really, really didn't need a different perspective of.

He tried to remind himself that it wasn't just her that was effecting him, it was the fact that he hadn't had any real fun since before the summer. At least, none that could be qualified as good, satisfying..._fun_.

Pansy sessions could only pacify him for a certain amount of time, that time-span getting shorter and shorter the more familiar he became with those dismal sessions.

These were the closest quarters he's stayed with a girl since the last year he was at school, he realized, and he was also a bit off kilter as it was. That's why she was effecting him so much, he told himself. The thought made him feel slightly better, but he didn't understand why he had to fantasize about a Mudblood, more importantly Potter and Weasley's Mudblood.

It dawned on him suddenly that she was the only girl he had really bothered remembering the whole time he was at school. Sure, he didn't know what her favorite book, food, or color was, but he took the time to bother and ultimately talk to her on a regular basis. He knew her name, first and last, which is more than he could say for most of the girls he shagged. Not that he would ever dream of actually _shagging_ that Mudblood—

Her face from last night swam in front of his eyes tauntingly; he growled.

"Mr. Malfoy, are you alright?" Professor Slughorn asked him, snapping him out of his trance once and for all. He sighed and looked up at the man gratefully, nodding. "Why don't you take a little break to clear your head before you start working on this potion? It's extremely complicated and if something goes wrong I don't want to put any of the other students at harm. Go on then, get the rest of the notes from one of your friends when you come back." The man was still looking at him uneasily, but he was being extremely kind. Maybe he found himself a new favorite teacher.

He glanced briefly over at Pansy, eagerly taking out another piece of parchment and setting to work on making another copy. He wouldn't be surprised if she made two copies for him, possibly one in an entirely different language. He shook his head and sighed, making his way quietly out of the dungeon.

Losing track of time, he let his feet take him wherever they wanted to go. He ambled around pleasantly and studied the newly-renovated castle, awestruck. Before he destroyed and then coincidentally rebuilt large parts of it in three month he had never truly noticed the full beauty of the place, but it was all around him in its magnificent glory. It made him secretly curious to learn more about the almost sacred place; he'd have to ask Granger if he could borrow _Hogwarts, A History_.

He stopped in his tracks. That damned girl, who he was doing so well _not_ thinking about, was sitting right in front of him.

Coincidentally asleep, too.

"Mudblood," he called out. No response. "Mudblood." He called a little bit louder, still no response. He rolled his eyes.

"Oi, Granger!"

She jumped and held her bag to her, looking around fearfully. When she finally spotted him she paled unattractively, casting her eyes immediately down to the floor.

"What's the matter with you, why aren't you in class?"

No response. Did she fall back to sleep?

He took a step forward, annoyed and wanting her to answer his questions. If he wasn't so observant he would've missed her tensing and trying to push herself into the wall. He stopped, confused.

"What's the matter?" Again, no response. He waited a moment. "Granger, you're going to have to help me. You've got night patrol tonight and if you're going to be all zombie-like I don't know how you're going to stop—"

"I remember last night." She said suddenly, cutting him off. She buried her face in her arms, letting her bushy hair create a curtain.

He sucked in a breath. Well, this sucked.

"You wouldn't have stopped?" She asked, her voice muffled by her arms. He came to stand in front of her, crossing his arms and refusing to show any emotion. She might be okay with letting herself become a public puddle for people to come and splash in, but he certainly wasn't.

"Of course I would've stopped, I wouldn't even have started. I was just saying that to scare you so you didn't bother me when you were having one of your..._nights_ again."

After a few moments she finally looked up at him, and he found it extremely hard not to react to her tear-stained face. He wanted to be revolted, he wanted to sneer and say something that would strike her and walk away with his head held high, but he couldn't. If truth be told he had never seen such raw, uncensored emotion in his entire life. Not from the victims Voldemort had tortured mercilessly, not from the people Bellatrix and Fenrir had locked in his cellar, not even from Potter himself. Here he was presented with something he was sure he would never see again in his life, and he couldn't get enough of it. He was staring like a buffoon, but he didn't care.

She wiped her eyes and looked away, embarrassed. Finding himself he cleared his throat and stepped back, waiting for her to stand up and join him. When she finally reached her full height he found he looked anywhere but her face, a very cowardly move coming from a Malfoy, he berated, but he couldn't help it. It was impossible to look at her and not see what he had seen moments before.

"I think I'm going to go up and take a nap before Transfiguration. I can take the before-dinner walk through if you'd like, I don't mind."

"Um, yeah. That'd be great." He stopped himself short of thanking her, because that's just something a Malfoy _doesn't_ do. They reached the stairway that led up to Boris and stopped, he examined the paintings above them, aware that she was watching him curiously.

"I'm sorry Malfoy, I don't know what's been getting into me lately. I shouldn't have bothered you—"

"Have a good rest then," he said briefly, cutting her off. He purposely let the old, childish version of him surge through him, hoping he made his point that this new...whatever it was wasn't something she could take as friendly. It was nothing. Nothing had changed between them, they still hated and sniped at each other whenever they could, they just had a minor stumble and now they would be right back where they always were. That's all it was.

Her hazel eyes widened and after a moment anger suddenly flashed in them. His message had been received.

Without another word she walked up the stairs, not bothering to look back even once.

* * *

**A/N:** Review please?

Oh. The characters, setting, creatures, spells, etc., etc., belong to the wonderfully talented pensman (as in swordsman, lol. I'm so clever. ;D) J.K. Rowling. :)


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